Always Worth Living
by Marcibel
Summary: Immediately following "Falling Strong," Scootaloo struggles through the part of her life that would not exist if Sweetie Belle hadn't interfered. She and Sweetie Belle face identity crises, abusive parents, and of course Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. Please read the Foreword first.
1. Foreword

Foreword

As the description said, this is the sequel to "Falling Strong," my first one-shot and my darkest fanfiction to date. However, if your were hoping for the same macabre feeling as the original had, your will be disappointed. It is sad, romantic-hell, it'll be even be a little lighthearted at times-but not dark.

There is also something that I didn't make clear, and that this is a modernized tale with cell phones and the such and everpony is human. In fact, when I was writing this and the original, I always envisioned Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle as they were in Equestria Girls (please forgive me) to some extent. I'm not saying it takes place in the EQ universe. We have Twilight instead of Sunset Shimmer, which basically means that this is just another high school fic, again, to some extent.


	2. Ch 1 - An Indigo Night

Chapter One: "An Indigo Night"

With a quick flip of her finger, Scootaloo turned on the light in the guest bedroom. It was a pretty dry room containing nothing more than a full-sized bed with a light blue blanket, a short dresser with three handle-less drawers, and a small television on a small wooden stand. The blue carpet added to the plainness of the room. But it was a guest bedroom, and such simplicity was necessary for visitors to feel comfortable here. The stillness of the room unnerved the girl a bit, though.

Scootaloo dropped the shoulder strap of the duffel bag slung over her right shoulder into her right hand and lightly flung the bag onto the bed. On her other shoulder was her backpack for school. She walked to the bed, sat the backpack at the foot of it, and yanked on the duffel's zipper. It unzipped a bit until it stuck. Frustrated, she grabbed both rows of the teeth on the unzipped side of the mechanism as she went. Eventually, she got it to the other side. Scootaloo tossed open the flap and looked down. She had pretty much everything she'd need for a few days: clothes, toiletries, that kind of stuff. She sighed loudly as she began unpacking and, keeping her thoughts occupied, reminisced a bit while doing so.

Today was certainly an eventful and emotional day; every second of it she could recall with perfect clarity. Now, she wanted nothing more than to forget it all, but that wasn't going to be possible. Every time Scootaloo closed her eyes, she could almost feel the pistol in her mouth; and the taste of its mouth seemed to linger on her tongue. Surely, she will have some nightmares to face tonight, and tor the rest of her life.

After Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle had gathered some clothes for the former's overnight stay and beyond, Sweetie Belle took the liberty of placing the gun back into Scootaloo's father's desk herself. She still didn't trust Scootaloo with it. They tidied up what little mess there was and disguised the hole in the wall with a framed photograph. Scoots' parents wouldn't notice it; her father's vision would be too blurry and her mother was never a detail-orientated person. They would even miss the fact that Scootaloo not being there. After that, they left, and not a word was spoken on the walk to Sweetie Belle's house.

The only pieces of clothing left on the bed were a solid grey shirt tank top and a pair of plaid sweatpants. They weren't forgotten; they were left behind on purpose.

Scootaloo tossed the bag, now empty, to the floor at the foot of the bed. She took the remaining outfit and placed it on the dresser. From where she was, she could hear and a quartet of voices...

"Sweetie Belle, I really wished you would've told us sooner that Scootaloo was staying a few days," Sweetie Belle's gently scolded. She, Sweetie Belle, Rarity, and the sisters' father were all in the kitchen. Sweetie's mother was finishing up washing the dishes, and the father was peeling and slicing potatoes with small parry knife before dropping the pieces into a pot of water on the stove. Rarity was lounging at the table with her phone in her hands and a bite of an apple in her mouth. Sweetie Belle was leaned against the refrigerator.

"I'm sorry, it was kinda spur of the moment," Sweetie Belle defended.

"Do her parents know she's here?" her mother asked.

"They were the ones that suggested she stay here, actually," Sweetie lied. There was a short pause, silence filled with water running from the tap, potatoes splashing into the pot of water, and keys being rapidly pressed. "Mom, how would someone report child abuse?"

Everyone dropped what they were doing-literally for the plate Sweetie's mother was holding and Rarity's phone-and looked at Sweetie Belle.

"W-Why?" her mother asked in a swirl of concern and confusion.

Sweetie Belle, trying to play it cool like Scootaloo would, shrugged and answered, "Just something that was said during my child development class."

"Oh," Sweetie's mother said, still unnerved but overall satisfied, "uh, you would go to the police."

"Why wouldn't you go to social services?"

"Because child abuse, in this country, is a criminal offense and should be reported to the police," her mother explained, "They will contact social services."

Suddenly, a vibrating sensation was felt by Sweetie Belle's leg coming from her phone in her pants. Using her small forefinger and thumb, she pulled out the phone and saw that it Sweetie gave her sister a quizzical glance before reading it:

"U don't have a child development class. What's up?"

Sweetie typed:

"Can't tell, at least not right now." 

A few seconds later, Rarity must've gotten the message because she gave Sweetie a look similar to the one she received from Sweetie a minute ago. She sent:

"Does it have something 2 do with scoots?"

"Can't tell."

The back-and-forth prodding and rejecting went on for another five minutes before their father suggested, "If you girls want to talk in private, why don't you go one of your rooms?"

The girls exchanged bewildered glances before both of them went to Rarity's room. After they left, their father sighed and said, "Damn texting," which was replied with a giggle from the one by the sink.

Rarity led the way to her room, closing the door behind Sweetie Belle. Rarity's room, as anyone who knew her would expect, was extravagant and excessive, to say the least. Pictures of her friends were scattered around the room, some framed and some not, in a pattern that only Rarity herself thought was glamorous, and a furry and plush set of purple bedspreads laid on her bed, the corners neatly tucked under the mattress. The bed was positioned in the center of one of the walls, across from the door. A desk next to Rarity's closet adorned the wall to the right, and two small bookshelves were pressed against the left wall.

Sweetie Belle took a seat on Rarity's bed. I squeaked as the springs compressed under her, er, weight. Rarity turned around from the door and looked her sister in the eye. "Sweetie Belle, what's going on?"

"I told you, I can't tell you." Sweetie's returning glare made her words all the more solid.

"Does it have something to do with Scootaloo?"

"I...can't...tell you!"

"And why not?!" Rarity was getting as annoyed as Sweetie Belle already was.

"Because it doesn't concern you!" Sweetie Belle yelled. She stood up, went to the door, and grabbed the doorknob before adding, "You may be surprised to hear this, but nothing everything concerns you." And with the truth said, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her and leaving Rarity to exasperatedly and irritably stomp and growl.

Scootaloo had always been a curious girl for nearly her whole life, in fact. For the sake of knowledge! That was always her excuse, and she used it often. At school, she'd get a warning or a mere detention for snooping, but pulling a stunt like that at home would get her face reacquainted with the back of her father's fist. Luckily, she wasn't home; so when she saw Rarity and Sweetie Belle head into the former's room, Scootaloo's curiosity compelled her to see-or rather eavesdrop on-what they were doing.

The guest bedroom was to one end of a long hallway. Looking from Scootaloo's temporary quarters, there were three doors on the left wall and two on the right, all before the hall was split between a forward path that, after a right turn, led to the kitchen, and a left turn that was to the master bedroom. Rarity and Sweetie Belle had entered the room the farthest on the right.

They didn't seem to see her; and when the door shut, Scootaloo took her steps, quick yet careful so her cargo pants wouldn't shuffle that much. Her stride was wide, and she reached the door in a second.

Pressing her ear against the door, she could hear their voices. They were muffled but still audible enough to make out some of the words.

"…something to…Scootaloo…"

"I…can't…tell you!" Sweetie Belle was obviously angry and what little patience she had was spent dealing with her sister. Honestly, Scootaloo didn't know how Sweetie belle could put up with her sister. Then a dark thought entered Scootaloo's head: If Rarity was her sister, she would have pulled the same as the one earlier that day, and she would have gotten results.

"Scootaloo continued listening in on the sisters, that is until someone—probably Sweetie Belle—grabbed the doorknob. Scootaloo heard it rattle on her side of the furtively-listened door.

"Oh, shit," she said under her breath as she jumped back in a panic. Scootaloo looked behind her and saw a door, an escape. She rushed through the door, but not before slamming her left knee into the trimming of the doorway. An all-too-familiar crippling pain shot throughout her leg, sending her to the ground. Scootaloo was now partially kneeling, using her only good knee for support; and she closed the door with her right hand.

"Fuck!" she exhaled in a raspy voice as she shifted to a sitting position. Of course, she had to band _that_ knee! The past couple of days had been well for it. It didn't really hurt as much as it had after the accident a couple months before. In fact, the day before, her bad knee was the only thing of hers that didn't hurt; that is, until she sought comfort in some little white friends of hers. The pain was so horrible, and she wished she had those little friends with her.

After a good five minutes of heavy breathing, Scootaloo finally decided to try and stand. The pain was not going to pass, and her weight on the knee seemed to make the pain worse. Her mind decided to not dwell on the pain, and that was when she realized where she was—a bathroom. Much like most of the house, it too was themed to the color of a shining bright white, like Sweetie Belle, Sweetie's sister, and Magnum, Sweetie's father. The floor was made of large snowy white diamonds with much smaller, jet black diamonds on every vertex. Directly ahead was the bath and shower, taking up all of it wall. The deep purple shower curtain hung to one side, the left. On the part of the left wall that wasn't already occupied by the shower were the sink and the toilet. The toilet was as simple as they come, a detail that was rare in this family and was surprising when it was found. The sink, however, was quite decorative, adorned with a chrome faucet and pearl handles. Two toothbrushes—one of which Scootaloo swore had looked like Sweetie Belle—rested in a cup, along with two different types of toothpaste, on the sink. A dark purple towel and a fuchsia towel hang from a rack across from the head.

Scootaloo felt the muscles in and around her knee. She could feel the blood pulsating in her knee. Standing definitely did not help. Actually, the weight of her body made it worse. But she can't just stay in there all night, and she definitely can't crawl while favoring her knee like a cat with a paw that was recently stepped on. That thought made her frown worsen. With a slight stumble, she turned around to the door, opened it, and hopped out.

Sweetie Belle slammed shut her bedroom door, and the force dismantled a framed photo of her, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo that she had hung on the wall. It hit the floor behind the small wooden desk and shattered. But Sweetie Belle did not acknowledge it; she just clenched her fists, dove face-first onto the bed pushed into the corner, and screamed into a pillow.

Aargh! Her sister! Sweetie Belle hated how her sister was always pushing whenever it came to something that could be considered 'juicy.' But this, this didn't concern her, so why did she care? Just one more year and she would be gone, leaving Sweetie Belle alone, figuratively speaking.

Just then, Sweetie Belle heard someone outside and the unusual slow tempo of what sounded like footsteps. She pulled her head back from the pillow.

"What the...?" Sweetie Belle was intrigued. The 'footsteps' were heavy and loud, even on the carpet. Thump...thump...thump, right by her door. Getting up and pulling it open, she looked to the right and saw nothing. Then she looked to the left, where she saw Scootaloo hopping on her right leg to the guest bedroom.

"Scootaloo!" Sweetie Belle cried. Scootaloo stopped and looked behind her, using the wall and her hand for support.

Sweetie Belle ran to Scootaloo and wrapped her right arm around Scoots' back. She became a prosthetic leg for Scootaloo when Scootaloo laid her arm on Sweetie's shoulder.

"Thanks, Sweetie."

"What happened?" Sweetie asked as helped Scootaloo to the bedroom.

"I went to the bathroom and banged my bad knee into the doorway," Scootaloo replied as they entered the guest room. They went to the bed, and Sweetie Belle caringly sat Scootaloo on the bed with Scootaloo's legs stretching out to the floor. Of her own inclination and curiosity, Scootaloo reached down and rolled up her cargo pants past the knee. Sweetie Belle gasped through her gritted teeth. Scootaloo's knee, originally orange in color, had swollen into a blackish-blue bruise directly on the knee and a reddish-orange color around it.

"On a scale from one to ten, how much does it hurt?" Sweetie Belle asked.

Scootaloo replied, with a deadpan face, "Fuck-me-teen." She then smirked. Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes, but the simultaneous smile on her face told another story.

"Is there something we can put on it?"

"Scootaloo took a deep, calming breath before answering. "Yeah, that muscle-rub stuff. You know, that stuff that feels hot and cold at the same time."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Sweetie Belle stood up, trying to think if they have something like that. And without a clue or word to say, she left.

Scootaloo was now alone with her thoughts and pain. She tried to make herself comfortable by lying on the bed, but her torso was longer than the width of the bed. When she tried lying down, her head hit the wall the bed was pushed against, forcing her neck into a ninety-degree bend and her chin into her collarbone. It didn't take long for her to decide that she would rather walk with her bad knee than lie like that.

There was the sound of someone running down the hall. Sweetie Belle. The sound faded for a minute; and then it returned, growing louder and closer before Sweetie Belle emerged, holding a jar and washable muscle wraps in her hands and a single safety pin in her mouth.

She dropped it all at Scootaloo's foot. "My mother told me to use a muscle wrap. It should help the swelling."

Sweetie Belle didn't wait for a response or instructions. She went to work, slathering the knee with 'muscle-rub stuff.' Scootaloo hissed in pain when Sweetie's hand first touched it, and Sweetie Belle was beyond apologetic. Sweetie Belle then wrapped the knee and pinned the end with the safety pin. Scootaloo was impressed by how Sweetie Belle had taken charge, seeing how usually Sweetie would panic in this sort of situation. She was then taken completely off-guard when she felt Sweetie's hand on her thigh. Sweetie had grabbed the rolled-up legging and began unfurling it. Scootaloo felt the hot, sharp sensation of blood rushing to just beneath the skin in her face.

When Sweetie Belle was done, she looked up to the girl she had just aided and noted the girl's now-scarlet face.

"Yeah, it's kinda hot in here, isn't it?" Sweetie said. She looked up at the ceiling and it's still fans. Sweetie reached up, her toes elevating her slightly, and yanked on one of the chains that hung from the ceiling fan. The fan began to spin, gaining speed quickly.

"That's better."

Sweetie was now in a much more cheerful mood, upbeat and pleasant, the Sweetie Belle that Scootaloo had come to know and-

"Hey, Scootaloo, how's the leg?"

Sweetie's question pulled Scootaloo from her cloud of thoughts to the cold earth of reality. She realized that her leg was much better than before. It still hurt, but an attempt to stand revealed that the knee was well enough for it to do its duty.

For the first time since they arrived home, Sweetie Belle smiled. It was a toothy grin that was as white as she was, prompting Scootaloo to get lost a bit in those pearly whites while she grinned herself.

An hour later, the proverbial dinner bell rang. It was a melody for which the hungry beat of everyone's stomach was aching. They all gathered to the dinner table in the dining room adjoining the living room. Five plates were set; the fifth was set for Scootaloo. Everyone took their seats, and dinner was finally being served.

Five minutes of everyone asking someone to pass this or to put that back that followed. Everyone had filled their plates with pieces of fried chicken and mountains of mashed potatoes garnished with a flow of savory, steamy gravy made from flour, grease from the chicken, and milk. The gravy streamed into the Great Sea of Sweet Peas that resided next to it. The gorgeous sight and smell of it all made Scootaloo give them and their cooks a salivary salute.

"Scootaloo, dear, do you have enough?" Sweetie Belle's mother asked.

Scootaloo was caught off-guard by the warmth and careness in her voice.

"Uh, yeah, Pearl. Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear. It's good that you could stay with us," Pearl said earnestly.

"Well, it's good that Sweetie Belle invited me to stay with you-Ow!" Scootaloo felt a sharp, pinching pain on her right side. She looked to see Sweetie Belle with a stern, disapproving look.

"Wait, Sweetie Belle invited you?" Pearl asked, her demeanor changing for the worse.

"Um, no?"

"Sweetie Belle, why did you lie earlier or just let me know that you had invited Scootaloo ahead of time?"

"Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo glanced at each other quickly, trying not to make it obvious.

But it was.

Pearl dropped her fork onto her plate and rubbed her eyes with her hands. "Okay, what's going on here?"

There was a silence until Sweetie Belle looked to Scootaloo. Scootaloo' s furrowed brow asked, "What?" to which Sweetie Belle audibly answered, "It's not my place to tell them."

Scootaloo let out a sigh before rolling up her sleeves and revealing the burns and cuts.

A trio of gasps and squeals-unjoyful ones, of course-echoed in the dining room.

Pearl's expression reminded Scootaloo of Sweetie's earlier reaction that day: gaping mouth politely covered with her hand, a batter made from disbelief, horror, and sympathy being mixed speechlessly in her head, only to be baked into her words and actions that would follow.

"Scootaloo, sweetie, pardon my language, but what the fuck happened?!"

Scootaloo sighed softly, looking Pearl dead in the eye, and said with a shockingly calm voice, "My parents abuse me. My father prefers physical abuse..." her words almost seemed to be heavier than she had anticipated, as she had trouble vocalizing them aloud and took a pause between each word, "...while my mother prefers emotional abuse."

"What does your mother do, exactly," Rarity asked, her hand still over her mouth.

Scootaloo looked down at the untouched plate of food in front of her. "She would tell me that I deserved what my father would do to me. She'd tell me that I was a disappointment whenever I would bring home grades lower than an A's. That kind of stuff."

Scootaloo then made eye contact with Rarity, who looked away shamefully.

Pointing to Sweetie Belle, Pearl asked her daughter, "So earlier, when you asked about reporting child abuse, you were thinking..."

Sweetie Belle nodded sheepishly.

Pearl looked down at the napkin in her lap and adjusted it. She looked up from it before adding, "Well, whatever happens, you can stay with us. And we'll make sure you don't go to any other foster home than our home." She placed her right hand on her husband's lap. "Right, honey?"

The man, who had been silently stroking his moustache, nodded with a kind grin.

The warmth of the familial tenderness in the room finally caught up to Scootaloo, who grinned embrasively. Sweetie's parents were like family-_true_ family-to her, as they were always welcoming to her and had once told her that she would always be welcomed there. Scootaloo had never known to what extent they had meant when they said it, but now she knew.

By the truest meaning of the word, she was home.

Dinner continued without much conversation. Everyone either felt sympathy for another or felt uncertain about her own future. But in the end, like a family, they all put away their plates, threw the leftovers into the fridge, and fed the cat.

Scootaloo, in the pajamas she had laid aside when unpacking, lied awake in her bed. It was eleven at night, and most of the house had gone to bed long ago. Only she and Sweetie Belle had remained, and they were discussing their plans for tomorrow. It was simple: go to the police, report the abuse, and try to file for emancipation. Of course Scootaloo would have to testify in what would probably be open court. She already did in twice in one day; what was once or twice more?

A lone, nocturnal car zipped by the house, it's loud, unmuffled, rough sound a clear indicator of its status as a rusty piece of crap. It went along, like any chance of sleep for Scootaloo. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see her father, a drunken mess, with a lit cigar; or she would smell or taste the metal of the pistol or feel its hole and the little stub of a sight, both shoved into her mouth. Her senses would pop her eyes open to reveal that she was fine.

Physically.

Scootaloo decided to make a bold mover, being a 'guest' in her house. She couldn't be alone right now. So she grabbed the pillow on the bed and left the room. Turning to the first door on the right, Scootaloo pounded on the door with her fist. Scoots hoped she wasn't in bed already; but lo and behold, the doorknob turned within seconds of her rapping and swung open. The sight that followed the blank white of the door caused Scootaloo to choke a little on her tongue.

The shirt didn't come close to Sweetie Belle's knees and must have been an extra-large in men's sizes. It's navy blue color stood on her, and the lone shirt was all she wore-on top. Underwear was left to Scootaloo's imagination when it came to color, type, or overall existence.

Scootaloo blushed as she began stammering, "H-Hey, S-Sweetie Belle. Can I, uh, s-stay in here tonight?" Scootaloo closed her eyes and took a deep breath, shooing away all of her thoughts except for the important ones. She opened them to meet Sweetie Belle's twinkling emerald-green eyes. "I'm having some troubles sleeping, and-"

"Sure!" Sweetie exclaimed, "Come on in!"

Scootaloo hesitated at first before entering. The only light in the room came from the pink-shaded lamp on Sweetie's nightstand and the nightlight in an outlet on the wall. Sweetie Belle climbed in and pulled the covers over her feet and legs. She then moved her pillow and herself to one side of the bed.

Scootaloo just tossed her pillowed onto the floor and lied down on the floor. The carpet was a hard bed, certainly no patch of heaven; but when she closed her eyes; her visions were more peaceful, even if they were dirty.

"Are you just going to sleep on the floor?" Scootaloo heard Sweetie Belle ask. Scootaloo opened her eyes to see Sweetie, kneeling on her bed and looking at her.

Scootaloo answered slowly, "Yeah?"

Sweetie first frowned and then gave a good-willed smile.

"Come on," she said, her head and hair gesturing to the bed, "get in bed."

Again, Scootaloo hesitated; but Sweetie's inviting smile reassured her that nothing bad was going to happen.

Scootaloo grabbed her pillow and climbed in bed, placing the pillow on Sweetie Belle's full-sized mattress. Scootaloo flipped off the lamp, leaving the heart-shaped nightlight alone to illuminate the pathway for any late-night wanderers. Both girls lied on their side, facing the wall. Scootaloo had the urge to put an arm around Sweetie Belle, but she fought it. Thankfully, the sweet song of sleep comforted her and came quickly. The last thing Scootaloo recalled of that night was the smell of Sweetie Belle's hair.

Pineapples.


End file.
